Zero Forks - Cat Johnson Page 0,38

to arrive this morning, and so I’d brewed the first pot. But the office was bustling now. Someone else had started a fresh pot brewing. There was even half and half today, so I didn’t have to suffer with the powdered creamer.

Things were looking up.

I waited as long as I could stand for the pot to fill, and when my patience ran out, I slipped it out from under the stream, filled my mug—mostly—and shoved the pot back under, quickly before it made a mess.

I added my usual fixings and headed back toward my office, glancing at my watch along the way.

Ten minutes until the meeting. I should probably gather my things and get to the conference room now. Better early than late, even if it was likely the big boss would make us all wait.

That decision made, I turned the corner to my office and stumbled to a halt in the doorway.

Jerry was inside, standing behind my desk, rifling through my notebook.

“Excuse me,” I said with as much vitriol as I could pack into those two words.

His head whipped up and he flashed me that bright white smile that once upon a time, while under the influence of heartbreak and alcohol, I’d very briefly thought attractive.

“Oh, hey. I was just looking for you.”

Freaking liar.

“Were you? Well, I’m not hiding under the desk . . .”

He grinned wider. “No. Although I could think of something fun for us to do if you were.”

I narrowed my eyes to glare at him. There was no use reprimanding him or even commenting. The man had titanium skin and the inability to know when he was being sleazy and inappropriate.

The narcissist believed everyone else, women especially, loved him as much as he loved himself.

Ugh. This visceral reminder of my bad taste in rebound men was probably just what I needed to keep me on the straight and narrow with Boone. But it didn’t help me at all with the fact this douchebag and I had to work on the same campaign.

Trying to keep us focused on work, I said, “We should get to the conference room.”

“Sure thing. I can’t wait.” He beamed.

Once we were settled in and all parties were in attendance, Jerry began his presentation. He'd gotten away from the Mars concept and had moved his fictional young family back to Earth. But once he began explaining his idea, I realized exactly why he had been so excited to get there.

I sat there in shock and listened to him launch into a presentation based around my words. The Millennial phrases I’d heard Boone’s friends use and then had jotted down in my notes for my presentation.

He’d stolen my idea, the fucker.

I felt the blood pounding through my veins as I seriously considered standing up and calling him out in front of Kim and the boss for being a thief.

I’d just planted my palms on the table and pushed my chair back when Kim raised one finger in the air.

“Um, Jerry. Let me stop you right there. Can you explain why the characters are talking like my grandmother?” Kim asked.

“You mean the slang?” he asked.

“Yes.” She nodded.

“It’s the popular new sayings the Millennials are using nowadays.”

“No, they’re not.” Kim shook her head. “My daughter is twenty-seven. She still lives with me, so her friends are over a lot. I hear them talk and I’ve never heard one of them saying anything like that.”

“I have to agree. My grandchildren are Millennials. They’ve never used those phrases, as far as I’ve heard,” Mr. Rockland said.

“Maybe it’s a new fad. From out west. You know. California. Los Angeles. The West Coast usually leads these things.” As Jerry tried to dig himself out of the hole he’d created through his thievery of my idea, I struggled to breathe normally.

The reality of the situation hit me.

I’d been minutes from presenting that idea myself. An idea that, if he hadn’t stolen it from my notebook this morning, would have crashed and burned, but with me in the cockpit instead of Jerry.

How could I have been so wrong? I’d heard those girls say all those things just yesterday.

Was it a Mudville thing? Regional to that small area in upstate New York? I suppose it was possible.

Still reeling, I thanked God I hadn’t gone first.

I took a pen to my notes and scratched out all reference to my ill-conceived idea. What just hours ago had felt like such a brainstorm was now all garbage.

“Sarah?”

Shit. I was up.

It wasn’t the ideal time to